The Fog
by BellatrixLestrangey
Summary: A little one shot in honor of tumblr's Azula apprication day; About a year after running away into the Forgetful Valley Azula finds herself pondering upon the things she can't remember and her journey to recovery


Azula tugged her hair out of its top knot, letting it cascade down her bare back. She dipped her finger into the bathwater…lukewarm. It would seem that these days, the hot springs heating the palace water supply were growing cold, losing their glamor. _Like me_ , the thought was in her mind before she could purge it out.

She walked over to the pool of water and showered it with a rain of fire. At this point, she was probably better at heating the water than the springs were. She touched her pointer to the water again. Finally satisfied with the temperature she let her body slid in.

Azula let her head fall under the water and then resurface, droplets of hot water dripping down her cheeks.

And then she sat there, letting her hair fan out around her moving occasionally with the water. It tickled her skin upon contact. _When had it gotten so long?_ She couldn't quite recall. Amid everything else that had changed, the length of her hair was such a trivial thing.

Azula ran her fingers through long dark strands, watching steam rise from the waters, curling foggy fingers that crept along the surface.

Soothing.

Azula liked the steam, it was a distraction. A way she could both focus on something, and think of nothing all at once.

Sometimes she would just soak in the bath water (only moving to re-heat it) for hours and hours on end. She liked to just sit there. More often than not it seemed like the bathwater could cleanse the voices away just as well as the day-to-day grime. Could wash away her troubled mind.

Her fears.

What was left of her sorrows.

The feeling that she was past her prime and would never feel powerful or useful again.

Azula curled her fingers around the nearest shampoo bottle, watching its contents ooze into her palm. It smelled of some exotic fruit she knew she'd tasted somewhere…but from where she couldn't tell.

Since running into the Forgetful Valley, a great many things had become like that. She had bits and pieces of times and events but couldn't quite put dates to them nor could she fill in the gaps, the big empty holes in her memory.

 _A curse and a blessing_ , she decided. She didn't only lose chunks of the good times, but also some of the dark times.

The day of her would-be coronation became a curtain of fog, and Azula had no intention of wafting the mist aside.

It was indeed blur of miserable memories. She recalled the fear, the hate, the shame. She recalled that it was the day she first started seeing things…or maybe it wasn't. If that was the case she was glad to have forgotten the actual first experience.

It was probably terrifying.

She watched the water ripple as she moved to place the shampoo bottle where she had found it. _That's probably why they took me back_. Azula had—at one time—decided. _Because they felt bad_ …

She had tried to sway her thoughts in a different direction.

For a while she thought herself to be only an object of pity.

A fragile, breakable thing.

Damaged.

Beyond repair.

Occasionally this line of thought would intrude her mind again.

Azula let a small blue flame flicker into her palm—about a month back was when she decided she would stop calling herself weak. Convincing herself that she wasn't had been much easier said than done. She gazed at the flame. If she were truly weak, then it would have died out already.

Zuko told her that there was a certain and peculiar strength in her recovery. That it must have taken a lot of nerve to comeback to a world of people that weren't very fond of her. That it took twice as much strength to admit her faults and ask for another chance. He said that he knew just how difficult that was to do.

And then he would tell her that it was thrice as strong to claw her way out of the sadness entrapping her. Even when she felt like it was for nothing.

That was a time when getting out of bed had been a chore. A time when she didn't even remember what was bothering her, only that she was simply upset and frustrated.

A time when she just wanted to lay down, in her bed…on the floor…wherever, and cry.

Cry for the things that she knew she lost.

Even though she couldn't recall exactly what those things were. Power, she knew. Her crown, she also knew. Dignity, probably. But there was something else…someone?

And that was the thing she mourned the most.

On those days, Zuko seemed rather keen on reminding her that he was proud of her. Proud of her, even when she couldn't be. He was always excited to see her when she came downstairs for dinner on her own accord.

 _The little things_ , Azula pondered. _The little things that had seemed so daunting, things like brushing her hair_. Those were the things he praised her for doing.

She grabbed a bar of soap and swiped it over her left arm. _Because he knew how draining it had been_. And when she'd finally regained the motivation to run through her fire and lightningbending stances. Azula hadn't seen him smile at her like that since they were children—perhaps that was the fault of her spotty memory.

That was a day that stood out in her mind; it was the day that cloud of melancholy began to part. The day she didn't feel so tired or drained.

Throughout the first few stances Azula had felt as pained as ever—like her bending simply wasn't as good as it should have been. Zuko had been watching from the window and only came into the yard when she ripped her crown out of her hair, threw it to the ground in a fit of anger, and broke down into familiar sobs.

The feeling of his arm over her shoulder, still vivid in her mind.

"You're doing great." He spoke. "To be honest, I think that's the fastest I've seen you bend lightning."

That had only made her feel slightly better.

A soft smile came to Azula's lips at the recollection of what had come next; it was a little past noon when Zuko announced that the Kyoshi Warriors would be staying at the palace. Another topic that was (and still is) fuzzy to her. Azula could remember who they were and what causes they stood for. But she couldn't recall what personal connection she had to them—probably nothing particularly positive.

Azula stood in the doorway next to Zu-Zu, who occupied himself with waves and handshakes and an occasional hug.

Azula received only one; a long and tight hug from probably the most cheerful person she'd ever met. Ty-Lee beamed up at her with that wide childish grin. "It's so good to see you again! I know I was mad but…when I heard…when I heard that you ran off…." Her voice fell into something just above a whisper. "I didn't think I was going to see you again. I didn't want things to end on such a bad note."

At the time Ty-Lee was just another familiar face, without any substance attached. Azula didn't quite know what to say so she just asked, "did you always talk this much."

The girl finally broke the hug and giggled. "I think so…maybe a little more."

Her cheerful voice and bright exterior had bought Azula a sense of warmth.

A sense of comfort.

Azula realized then that, that— _she_ , Ty-Lee was the loss she was still mourning. Whatever that 'bad note' was must have been pretty tragic.

Azula stood and stepped out of the bathtub. Ty-Lee had been helping her fill in a lot of those blank spaces in her mind…at least the one of good times. Azula wrapped a towel around herself. Today, she decided, it is time to face the whole truth.

It was a bright day. She stood before her full length mirror, picking her crown up off the dresser. She placed the hair piece in her mouth as her fingers worked with ribbon; she never was good with getting her hair into that top-knot.

After a few moments she decided that she'd just get the servants to tie her hair up later, like usual. She took the hairpiece from her mouth and set it back down next to the ribbon. Her hair cascading over her shoulders.

Azula tugged on her royal silks and took to applying her kohl eyeliner.

When done she spared a final glance in the mirror. She hadn't felt nor looked this beautiful since the day of the comet.

Hadn't felt this powerful.

Confident.

Indeed, the day was as good as any to finally face the truth. The whole truth. She would hear her entire story from the glory to the shameful.

She would accept it and move on.


End file.
